


Rescuing Tim

by Supernova95



Series: Home Alone [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supernova95/pseuds/Supernova95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What had Tim’s parents done to him? Illegal trade in black market artefacts was one thing, but child neglect, of such a beautiful and obviously thoughtful child at that, was another evil altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Creative Thinking

“DAD!”

“Daddy!”

It was never a good sign when two pre-teens barrel into you after a long day at work.

“We missed you”

“Yeah, why did you have to go into work today?”

“We never get to spend any time with you anymore”

“What’s so interesting that you would prefer to spend your days over at the _office_ rather than here,with us?” Bruce chuckled.

“Nothing is more interesting than you two, but we’re close too sealing a very important business deal at the moment and they need all hands on deck, especially from the owner of the company”

“Awwwwww” they both said in unison, matching pouts formed on both their faces. He smiled, ruffled their hair, and proceeded to take off his coat, put down his brief case and walk to the kitchen to get a much needed cup of coffee.

“You know the adorable puppy dog faces are coming along nicely, you may actually make them believable in a few months.” He knew they would be frowning at each other, and a grin came to his lips, so he was a little sadistic; so sue him.

“You’re lying, there is no way you can’t be affected by our amazing puppy dog eyes and adorable little pouts” they ran after him in light footsteps that barely made a sound against the marble floor. He had trained them well.

“Obviously they are not as convincing as you think they are, because I’m pretty sure I just resisted them with valour” he scooped up a bit of coffee foam on two of his fingers and dabbed one of each of his children’s noses, to be met with a symphony of coughs, splutters, sneezes and mumbling complaints of;

“Eeeew, that’s gross”

“It tastes disgusting”

“Why would you do that?”

And the kitchen boomed with his laughter, “I give you two years and  _both_  of you will be addicted to caffeine”

“No, never, I won’t give into this, I shall resist it with all my miiiiiii” Might, Dick didn’t get to finish the sentence before he was on the ground, squealing like a little girl as both he and Jason tickle attacked him. Dick was always the easiest to get on the floor laughing, it’s probably what turned him from Batman to a capable father (most of the time).

Once they finally let him up, Dick want to get a glass of water from the sink.

“Wha-?” Bruce and Jason turned their heads, their curiosity peaking at the other’s comment. Dick turned to them a confused frown on his face. “Bruce didn’t you say that the Drakes weren’t at Thursday’s charity dinner because they were away at a dig in Zimbabwe?”

“Yes… they should be getting back this evening, Alfred offered to pick them all up at the airport but they refused, why?” His eldest son turned back to the kitchen window,

“Because there’s a light on in Drake Manor, do you suppose they got back early?” Bruce looked concerned as he wondered towards the window.

“No they can’t have, there’s only one flight per week back from Zimbabwe and it’s at eleven o’clock tonight” his expression immediately turned dark.

“What is it dad?” Jason said from behind him, obviously seeing the clenching of his fists.

“They left Tim at home” his sons’ shocked faces said it all.

“But he’s what? Eight now? They’ve been in Zimbabwe for at least two weeks and left an eight year old at home? Alone?” Bruce sighed, even though it was probably true, they didn’t know that

“Dick he might have a sitter, we can’t just go-“

“But this has happened before hasn’t it”

“Usually we look after him when they go away on trips-“

“Until last year when we suddenly only have his round once in a blue moon” Dick was angry, but his eyes lit up as he stormed fuming out of the room, his family following.

“Dick where are you going”

“To the cave”

“Dick Batman can’t just burst in on their private lives-“ his son turned to him a grin on his face,

“No but the Batman can look in on their private lives, specifically their financial lives”.

Bruce really liked how his sons thought.

-

“Well that’s interesting” after two hours of digging something interesting was a nice change from boring account data.

“What?”

“ _Tim Drake_  owns a holding company… A subset of Drake enterprises, one that’s not doing anything but recording profits in the millions, one that has deposits only in the couple of weeks after Jack and Janet Drake come back from their *archaeological* trips, never their business trips.” Dick bit his lip, he didn’t know what to make of it, apart from the fact that it was wrong, so he let Bruce take over.

“Jason can you bring up anything on the digs they’ve been on in the last few years?” Images flashed up onto the screen before them, along with a couple of brochures and a newspaper article.

After a audible gasp from Dick the three men smiled.

“We need to take a trip to the Gotham Museum, and then to Gordon.”

-

“And you’re certain about this?”

“All the evidence you need is in the file” he handed the beige folder over to the Commissioner

“Why the sudden interest in the illegal trading of archaeological artefacts on the black market?” He remained stoic

“We’ve been chasing these two for a while, they have been stealing from archaeological digs across the globe for years now, making the money they get from it untraceable by tying it up in a pice of the company owned by their son”

“Son? Does he have a part to play in this”

“He’s eight” Gordon smiled at him knowingly, the man knew he had a soft spot when it came to children.

“So we’re looking for two adults and a child coming off the eleven o’clock plane from Zimbabwe.”

“Just two adults, we have reason to believe that as well as the illegal dealings in black market artefacts, they are also neglectful parents, Tim Drake hasn’t had a nanny or sitter since he was five, but also hasn’t been out of the country. Bruce Wayne is his Godfather and has taken the boy in a couple of times; he will be more than happy to look after him again”

“We’ll keep it in mind” Gordon responded but it was too late, the room was empty and dark, and a small smile spread on his lips. His friend was a softie at heart.

-

“Commissioner; we’ve found him” Sure enough, the next SWAT member to come out of the house came out carrying a small child. Once the man came into ear shot he found himself asking,

“Is he okay?”

“For the most part. He’s scared silly, but mainly unharmed”

For the most part, more like for a kid who spends most of his time fending for himself. The boy was small, and it made him think that maybe Batman had been wrong about his age.

His size wasn’t helped by the fact that he was obviously severely underweight, although not malnutrition. He had a bad cut on his leg; one that he would make sure got some treatment. He walked round the SWAT member to come into Tim’s view.

“Hello Tim, I’m Jim Gordon. I’m the Police Commissioner” he smiled and the child- Tim- smiled a little back. His little face contorted into a frown as though he was trying to figure something out.

“Does that mean that you’re important?”

“You could say that.” The SWAT officer put Tim down and Gordon knelt in from of him, trying to look as non-imposing as possible “I’m in charge of the Gotham City Police Force. Your parents aren’t going to be home for a while and we don’t want you saying at home all alone-”

“Why?” What had Tim’s parents done to him? Illegal trade in black market artefacts was one thing, but child neglect, of such a beautiful and obviously thoughtful child at that, was another evil altogether.

 ”My parents leave me at home all the time when they go on their trips, or go out for the evening, or to dinner, or out on business. They said I could go too; when I’m older. But at the moment I need to stay at home be a good boy and not to break anything…” Gordon could tell that Tim was starting to panic, the little boy’s breath started hitching and he talked at about ninety miles an hour, that sounded more like a pained whine than talking “I wasn’t a good boy today, ‘cause I broke the cupboard door and I couldn’t put back the pans that fell onto the floor because they’re too heavy… and I cut my leg on the door and I didn’t clean up the mess I made and so mommy and daddy will be mad at me when they come home and-” He knew that he shouldn’t, that it was against protocol but what the hell this was Gotham; stuff protocol, and so he pulled Tim up into a hug. Because one; he was trying to calm the boy down from his hyperventilation, and two; Tim needed a hug because it was very probable that he never got them.

“Where did you find him?” he hugged a bit tighter as he asked the SWAT officer still standing there, probably as perplexed about Tim’s parents as he was.

“In a cupboard. I thought the sirens had scared him into hiding there but I think he was scared of his-” Gordon cut him off with a small nod and grimaced in agreement to the man’s conclusions.

“How old did you say he was?”

“Eight”

“You’re joking… he looks no more than five at best”

He put Tim down again. He needed Tim to hear this, to be able to look into his eyes and believe this, because he had probably been indoctrinated by his parents enough not to “Tim, your parents may have left you alone in the house a lot, but we don’t like that, it’s dangerous. So you’re going to be staying with your neighbour, Mr Wayne, for a while. Is that okay?” Tim’s face brightened at the mention of Mr Wayne

“Yes please, I would like that a lot.”


	2. Ice Cream

All he wanted was some ice cream, who could blame a kid for wanting ice cream? Now he was cowering in a cupboard because soon his parents would come home and find the mess… He didn’t mean to leave a mess; he really didn’t. He was just climbing up the counter and he slipped, his foot catching on a cupboard door. Now his shin was bleeding and the cupboard’s contents was spilled over the floor and too heavy for Tim to lift back into place.

 

His leg really hurt but he daren’t come out of his cupboard because his parents would shout at him and he hated shouting, it made his ears ring, his cheeks and ears heat up and it made him cry. The shouting used to be between his parents but now it was mostly directed at him. For getting his P.E. kit muddy; for not making his bed; not dusting his room everyday; for not folding his clothes perfectly; for not stacking the dishwasher in the correct way; for putting dishes straight in the dishwasher without rinsing them first. It didn’t matter what it was; Tim just couldn’t seem to match up to the perfect expectations of his parents.

So he had resorted to hiding in a cupboard clutching his legs into his chest and crying his eyes out, waiting for the inevitable that never came… hours passed and nothing, no shouting, loud noises… no parents.

Then everything crumbled into a cacophony of sound. Sirens were screaming outside, car tyres screeched to a halt, voices shouted but the house muffled the words. Then they knocked on the door… and he didn’t know what to do so he cuddled himself closer to the back of the cupboard, away from the light made by the crack between the cupboard door and it’s frame.

There was a brief moment of silence that lasted an eternity before Tim heard the door being unceremoniously broken down. It wasn’t a very strong door; just wood. His parents had decided against strengthening the door, instead putting the money towards one of their globe trotting trips… There was nothing precious that they left in the house after all. One day Tim really wanted to go with them on one of their trips. They sounded fun, interesting; but as the shouts of “clear” rang through the house he supposes thats not going to happen.

The scene going on outside the cupboard door played through his head. He had seen it enough; hanging around outside the door to the living room late at night, too scared about being out of bed in the middle of the night to venture in and ask for comfort from his parents. They would be watching late night crime dramas and he would have had a nightmare… usually about the circus, and there were plenty of scenes he saw whilst debating the predicament he found himself in about police, the FBI, the ATF or people similar storming houses and shouting clear… usually it was because bad people lived there. Does this mean he was a bad person? He didn’t mean to be a bad person. He tried really really hard to be good. He really did. Usually he couldn’t match up to what his parents wanted from him, but he still tried. He didn’t want to be taken away because he sometimes forgets to clean his room or because he sometimes he did things wrong, like wanting ice cream and spilling the contents of a cupboard on the floor.

He heard them come into the kitchen and he started shaking tears silently running down his cheeks when he didn’t hear the men shout “clear” rather he heard muffled talking and then a call, not a shout, of;

“Sarge… we’ve got a blood trail in here.” and then he heard them coming closer to the sanctuary he had made in the cupboard at the back of the larder. He sobbed harder, dimly aware that they would now probably be able to hear him, but he really didn’t care. He wished Dick was there because he would snuggle his arms around him and draw him into his chest and hug him and reassure him that everything would be alright. He really wanted to be given a hug; because he supposed this was a situation where he should be given a hug… right? He had only really had hugs from Dick and Mr Wayne and Jason. They were nice people he liked them. He supposed they wouldn’t like him now… wouldn’t give him anymore hugs because he was a bad person and he was going to be taken away and they would see him as the bad person he is. Because he tries to tell them whenever he’s at their house; that he is a bad person, that that’s why his parents leave him alone so much… because he messes things up. That’s usually when they hug him and share a look that he can’t place, an expression he doesn’t know.

The shadows of the people stopped outside the cupboards, the light shining through the crack suddenly greatly diminished and the door opened. Tim doesn’t think that he’s ever been the object of so many people’s attention all at once. Even at school not that many people pay attention to him, and none of them wear relieved smiles, not like these people.

“Hey little guy, we’re not gonna hurt you, but we need you to come out of the cupboard. Can you do that for us?” he blinked a couple of times and slowly nodded before uncurling and crawling out of his sanctuary. Immediately one of the people in front of him scooped him up so that his legs were either side of their waist and his head could rest on their shoulder. He did so gladly, he was so scared and tired that any form of comfort; be it resting against a heavily armoured shoulder, was like slipping into heaven.

“Commissioner; we’ve found him”

“Is he okay?”

“For the most part. He’s scared silly, but mainly unharmed” words were left unsaid, but Tim could tell they were there… not telling him everything was a part of life he was very much accustomed to. An un-armoured man stepped into Tim’s field of view.

“Hello Tim, I’m Jim Gordon. I’m the Police Commissioner” he looked friendly, he had whitening hair, a whitish moustache, big black glasses and was waring a suit under a black GCPD bullet proof vest with a brown trench coat over the top. For some reason Tim trusted him so he grinned a little when a smile was sent in his direction.

“Does that mean that you’re important?” the man in front of him chuckled a little

“You could say that. I’m in charge of the Gotham City Police Force” he didn’t let Tim come up with a reply but instead got straight down to business, he was a busy man Tim supposed. “Your parents aren’t going to be home for a while and we don’t want you saying at home all alone-“

“Why?” he shouldn’t have interrupted, it’s rude to interrupt. His moment of fear at what the police commissioner would do because he rudely interrupted him must have shown on his face because the man’s brow immediately creased into an expression he… didn’t recognise, but it was the same one that the Wayne’s shared whenever he talked about his parents at their house. He could tell the man wasn’t angry at him… he knew when someone was angry… but he didn’t know this expression, maybe if he explained himself the man would understand, or he would understand the man.

“My parents leave me at home all the time when they go on their trips, or go out for the evening, or to dinner, or out on business. They said I could go too; when I’m older. But at the moment I need to stay at home be a good boy and not to break anything… I wasn’t a good boy today, ‘cause I broke the cupboard door and I couldn’t put back the pans that fell onto the floor because they’re too heavy… and I cut my leg on the door and I didn’t clean up the mess I made and so mommy and daddy will be mad at me when they come home and-” he realised he was hyperventilating and tears were flowing down his cheeks. It was getting hard to breath let alone talk.

He expected the man to be mad at him, to shout at him how stupid he was for not cleaning up after himself… to send him to his room. Instead he found himself being smothered by the man’s chest in a gentle… hug? The man rested the bottom of his chin against Tim’s head and so it gave him a funny sensation when ever the man talked to the person who had carried him out of the house.

“Where did you find him?”

“In a cupboard. I thought the sirens had scared him into hiding there but I think he was scared of his-” the commissioner cut him off with a small nod that Tim felt on the top of his head.

“How old did you say he was?”

“Eight”

“You’re joking… he looks no more than five at best” Tim had always been smaller than everyone else in his class, he was bullied about it, picked last in P.E. because of it, even his parents brought it up now and again when they were angry at him. He was used to it. The police commissioner put his feet back on the floor and crouched down to his level so that he could make eye contact “Tim, your parents may have left you alone in the house a lot, but we don’t like that, it’s dangerous. So your going to be staying with your neighbour, Mr Wayne, for a while. Is that okay?” Tim’s face brightened at the mention of Mr Wayne. He liked the Waynes. They were nice and fun and made him smile and hugged him and tickled him, and made him happy in a way his parents never did. “Yes please, I would like that a lot.”


End file.
